Short Letters and Dry Powder, Everything She Needs
by atsuibelulah
Summary: Dean asks for help without meaning to, and Neal and Kate respond the best way that two busy thieves can.  Sequel to The Fires in Their Eyes.  Dean/Kate, pre-threesome Dean/Neal/Kate


This is the sequel to my other story "The Fires in Their Eyes," you can find it here, or click through to my profile and find it there. And it's pretty much gonna be a crossover AU series, no never fear about me continuing it further. This fic has been cross-posted at whitecollarfic and sn_crossovers on LJ and at Archive of Our Own.

**Short Letters and Dry Powder, Everything She Needs**

Besides Neal and Kate and later, Dean, only Mozzie knew about the P.O. Box in Queens. It was originally intended as a back-up way for the three of them to communicate, and a fail-safe if things should go wrong. Occasionally, they would have files sent to it, information that needed to get to them anonymously. So, it wasn't uncommon for there to be mail in it that one or two of them weren't expecting.

When the James Dean post card arrived, Mozz didn't know who this new Pastor Jim character was. They rarely received anything from private individuals and no one in particular had ever consistently sent them mail before. The letters were also never addressed to anyone in particular. He began to comment about it when he dropped the mail by their apartment.

"Another letter from 'Pastor Jim'," he would say with well defined air-quotes. But he never opened them, and he kept all postcards right side up. He knew the value of privacy as well as Neal and Kate did.

They did see him notice their not-so-secret smiles when new letters would arrive. But he never asked after the first time when Neal only replied, "He's just a friend." They would tell him if they ever needed to, and they knew he would understand.

Dean would send them random post cards with one sentence messages like, "Ganked a ghost here. This mountain was pretty sweet looking," or "Don't visit this place, we couldn't shoot all the pygmies." Sometimes he would send them newspaper clippings written about mysterious phenomena or senseless tragedies and in the margins he would correct errors, writing things like "WRONG!" or "It's never wild dogs." And at the end he would always scrawl, "We got the fucker," with a big smiley face.

In return they would write him long letters in which they would describe places they'd eaten or the vague outlines of cons they had run. They would tell amusing stories about what Peter thought they were up to. Neal would doodle in the margins of the stationary; pictures of Kate or whatever cityscape he had seen recently. Kate would scribble hearts and little messages like, "my nose looks weird here," and add an arrow pointing to Neal's artistic license.

Once, not long after they had met Dean for the first time, the couple visited Palo Alto and sent him a charcoal sketch of Sam walking with a pretty blonde. The two were holding hands. Kate stuck a post-it with a big sharpie heart between them and lots of little kissy faces.

They decided not to tell Dean how much trouble they had nearly gotten into tracking the kid down. Not surprisingly, Sam was really suspicious of tails.

Neal and Kate told each other they would find the time to track Dean himself down after he sent them a postcard. It would have been easy enough from a postmark and a few casual inquiries. They knew Dean would never presume to try and find them. As far as he was concerned, there was only that one night and they'd be pen pals forever more, and he was fine with that. Neal and Kate knew better.

But they could never find the time. Not until they were forced to, at least. An even then, the situation wasn't perfect.

Dean left Athens, Ohio in the middle of the afternoon and drove to 77 and then North to 70 which would take him east. He hadn't been thinking about what direction he would go and had had no destination in particular in mind. He just drove.

He drove until he couldn't drive anymore and then got a $60 room at a motel outside Pittsburgh. He hadn't planned to stay more than a night. As he stood at the check-in counter, he saw a little carousel displaying postcards; photographs of rivers and bridges. He picked one up on a whim, feeling bitter and spiteful, and wanting desperately to tell someone about it. On one side was a picture of a little red trolley car, going down a steep wooded hill, on the other he scrawled the address of the P.O. Box and a message, it read, "Not everyone is as gullible as you."

He paid with the credit card of one Keith Moon, and politely asked where he could buy some beer. He drove two miles down the road, picked up a case and drove back to his room.

Two and a half days later, Dean hadn't left.

An insistent knock on the door woke him from a drunken but fitful sleep. He stumbled out of bed and through three days worth of bottles and beer cans and answered it. On the other side stood Kate, dressed in sweats and holding a bag of groceries and two cups of Starbucks in a paper carrier.

Dean stared at her open mouthed.

"The coffee is mostly cold, but you're going to drink it anyway," she said. "Then, you're going to tell me about her, and I will decide if she deserves my wrath."

"What?" Dean could have sworn he was dreaming. Her words made that little sense to him. His skull was about to crack open, it hurt so bad.

She looked at him for a long moment and he read worry in her big blue eyes. But she said nothing, just pushed past him into the room and set her things on the table by the window.

He closed the door behind her and leaned against it, shutting his eyes, glad to be out of the sunshine.

She looked him over and said, "Dean, Neal and I, we're pretty perceptive people, right? You would agree with that statement?"

"Sure," he replied easily, or as easily as he could, considering the circumstances.

"Right," she agreed. "So when we get a letter, postmarked Harmar, Pennsylvania written in your handwriting that _only_ says 'not everyone is as gullible as you,' you could trust us to figure out what to do about it?"

Dean looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his aching head. "I suppose," he mumbled.

"You suppose," she repeated flatly, and then smiled, as if despite herself. Her voice took on a plaintive edge; it made Dean's head ache worse. "If you knew we'd get the message, then why the hell are you surprised to see me here? Did you think we wouldn't find you? Did you think we wouldn't be worried?"

Dean shook his head. "I shouldn't have written it. It's not a big deal. You…you didn't have to—" He paused when she held up a hand, then moved forward to steer him by the shoulders to the bed.

Kate knelt in front of him and spoke slowly, as if to a small child, "Dean, you are obviously on a bender because you told someone, a girl probably, what it is that you do and she didn't believe you. So now you're in this downward spiral of self-pity and alcohol, because you're sick and tired of people abandoning you and you're afraid you are going to be alone forever."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, because that was entirely _not the case_, but her hands rose from his shoulders to either side of his face, catching him by surprise. "I am here to tell you," she continued, "that that is bullshit. You have me and Neal, and even if we can't be around all the time, at least one of us can be here when you need someone."

"But you don't even know me that well!" He protested. "One night and a couple of postcards later, and you're obligated to come to my rescue?"

"Damn it, Dean," she pushed away from him, turning her back and wiping a hand across her eyes. "Did you feel _obligated_ to warn us about Peter?"

"I didn't want you to go to jail!" Dean put his head in his hands and bit back a moan, he shouldn't be yelling like that.

Kate turned back to him. "Well, I don't want you to be alone right now. So you're going to sit at the table with me and drink the fucking coffee and maybe eat some of this food I bought you. Then, as I said, you're going tell me what happened and I'll decide if this bitch ought to have her eyes scratched out for hurting you."

Dean looked up at her, a mixture of surprise and fear in his expression.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Don't think I won't do it."

Dean put his hands in the air in surrender. "Sweetheart," he said, "I know you can do anything you put your mind to," and he went over to sit. He drank the coffee, cold as it was, with a ton of sugar and sadly, no cream. When he was finished, he looked across the clutter and garbage he'd thrown on the table to where she was now sitting opposite him.

"Her name is Cassie and I don't think you should scratch out her eyes," he said calmly.

Kate sniffed, haughtily and replied, "Let me be the judge of that. Now, spill."

* * *

Dean liked Cassie, a lot. She didn't fall for bullshit, and she didn't take it either. Getting her number had been a real challenge, so much in fact that he'd wanted to actually get a date instead of just the satisfaction of a quick lay.

Cassie was the kind of girl who gave guys a number just so they'd shut up, and it wasn't always hers.

She flirted and smiled, but didn't let any of it touch her. It was when he'd been utterly put off his game, and had said the most honest thing he could think of that she finally game him the time of day.

She had asked him why exactly he wanted to take her out so badly.

Sure that he'd blown it finally, he'd replied in a defeated tone, throwing caution to the wind and speaking the honest to god truth, "Because you're really hot and I'm tired of eating dinner with the cast of Friends."

Dean started backing away, but she caught his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. "Well then," she said with a grin. "How about tomorrow night?"

Then and there he decided to do it right.

"I'll pick you up at seven," he replied.

They went on two dates before he took her back to his place. He and Dad were staying in a rented house in Athens, no motel rooms this time; they would be there for a few weeks. He cooked for her. He bought wine, he played music. He did everything right. He did it because she deserved that. And right before he had to leave, he told her the truth because he thought she deserved that as well.

He fucked it up when he told her. He knew that now, knew it the moment he looked into her eyes after he'd spoken the words.

He'd started off wrong, saying he was leaving before he got into the rest of it. She was already upset. He should have told her about the hunting at the beginning of their relationship if he'd really been serious at all about doing things right.

When she asked him why he had to leave so suddenly, he told her about the reason they'd come to Athens in the first place. That Dad had been scamming the university into giving him access to their archives and buildings so that he could kill a ghost.

"It's the family business," he told her. "We hunt ghost s and monsters. Stuff people don't think is real. But it is. It's really fucking real. And I…I have to go with my Dad when he leaves tomorrow. He needs me to help him."

She looked blankly at him. "Help him…with the ghost hunting." Her tone was deadpan.

"Yeah," Dean replied, uncertain what sort of reaction this was. And it felt like the ground fell out from under him when she laughed

"Jesus, Dean, quit screwing around," she said smiling. But her smile fell away when she saw the look on his face. "Come on," her eyes became serious when she urged, "You told me you were a practical joker, but this isn't funny."

"No," he'd replied softly. "It's not. I'm serious." And he rattled off a million things he knew about hunting, the little details only an expert would know. An expert or a psychopath, that is.

He'd rushed it, botched the whole thing, because he'd wanted it to be over. He'd wanted Cassie to take it like Neal and Kate had.

"Don't you dare do this to me, Dean Winchester," she said backing away, anger rising in her expression, but a waver in her voice betrayed fear. And Dean balled his fists in frustration when she said, "I thought you were the real deal. I thought this was going somewhere! You cannot be doing….this!" She gestured wildly and backed up another step.

"Cassie, this _is_ going somewhere. That's why I'm trying to be honest with you. I'm trying to do this right." He took a step forward, to close the distance between them. "Please, please, Cassie, I know this is hard to take. I know it's scary, but _please_, you have to believe me. I have to leave, but I'm telling you this, so you'll know why. So you'll know I'll come back."

She shook her head, steel coming into her gaze. She picked up a paperweight from her desk and held it like a grenade. "I'd like to think I can pick up on this level of crazy before I go as far as we've come, Dean. So, if you're not insane, then this is a hell of a way to break up with a girl. Either way—"

He tried to stop her. He took another step forward, saying, "Cassie, come on…"

"Either way… get out of my house." When he didn't, when he just stared at her, open mouthed and hurting like hell, she screamed, "Get out!" And she chucked the paperweight at his head.

He dodged, but he must have also taken some sort of aggressive stance, just out of habit, because she scrambled back flat against the wall, her eyes wide and frightened.

He backed up too, shocked by her reaction. "Cassie," he whispered.

Her hand went to the desk lamp next to her, grasping it, but not lifting. "I said, get the hell out of here," she demanded, low and hostile.

He straightened, lifting his chin and said quietly, "If you ever need anything, you have my number. And…I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Cassie," and left.

He stared right back when Cassie's roommates gave him the stink eye and he didn't look back as he drove away.

He left Dad a note, saying he needed a vacation, that he'd call in a few days and he didn't stop driving for hours. He didn't stop driving until he wanted a drink so bad his hands were shaking.

* * *

Dean finished the story with his head down, his elbows on the table, staring into a thoroughly chilled, half-empty cup of coffee. He looked up when he heard Kate's chair slide across the floor.

She pulled him up, and hugged him hard without saying one word. As he brought his arms around her slim shoulders, through her long, tangled hair, Dean realized this was what he'd really needed. He pressed his lips to her shoulder and whispered, "Thanks, Kate."

When he finally pulled away, she cupped his cheek with a warm hand. "Come here," she said and tugged him toward the disheveled bed. They sat down together and she pulled her legs up and underneath her. Her hand grazed his forehead. "You're not still hungover, are, you?"

He shook his head. "Naw. I'm fine." Talking about what happened had actually made him feel better, physically and, well he wasn't about to admit it anyway. He just smiled at Kate. "Does she deserve your claws, Miss Kitty?"

"Call me that again and _you_ will," Kate returned, crooking her fingers like claws, and grazing them lightly across his cheek.

He leaned away from her, laughing, and caught her hand. She laced her fingers though his. "It's hard, you know? To hear the kinds of things you told that girl. She's just a kid. You can't fault her for being scared. So, no claws," she concluded.

"Just a kid," Dean repeated. "And how old are you?"

She smiled. "I'm talking life experience here, Dean."

"And I'm talking age. How many years you got?"

Kate stretched out behind him on the bed, and propped her head up on one hand, crossing her legs like a centerfold model. "I met Neal in Geneva two and a half years ago. I made my friends pretend to be Parisian models to get into a party. I did most of the talking, but he saw right through us. We were all young and stupid. We got too wasted to keep up the con. Luckily, he made sure we got back home before morning."

Dean quirked an eyebrow.

She grinned, remembering, and said, "He sent me messages in origami flowers and paper cranes. Two weeks later I climbed out my third story bedroom window and left that boarding school and my old life behind. It was my seventeenth birthday."

"You're nineteen?"

"And I look 25 if I look a day." She smiled proudly. "It's really helpful for changing identities. I can be Neal's kid sister or he can be my kept man."

"I bet you like the second one best," Dean smirked.

"Wouldn't you?" She smirked right back.

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped her hand, pulling his arms up to pillow his head. "Oh, we are not going there, Sweetheart." She pouted prettily and he amended, somewhat to his own surprise, "Not tonight, anyway."

Kate laughed and rolled over onto her stomach. "Well, where are we going tonight?" She asked suggestively, tilting her head so that her hair spilled over her shoulder and onto the mattress in a cascade of tangled curls.

Dean must have looked like a deer in headlights. All he could think was that this girl was not his. She was Neal's and not his. He said, "So why couldn't Neal make it to my intervention?"

Kate smiled knowingly and replied, "He's caught up in a job. My presence wasn't necessary for a few days, so I came down here. Neal needs to be in New York." She sidled up closer to him and looked up through her lashes as she continued, "If it'll make you feel better, we're allowed to fuck." Her smile turned wicked.

Every muscle in Dean's body grew stiff in shock at her words. Every single one. "Allowed to?" He asked in an embarrassingly strangled voice.

"Yeah, Neal and I talked about it. He actually seemed pretty excited by the idea." How her voice maintained that level of casual confidence was beyond Dean. What kind of couples go around talking about cheating on each other?

Incredibly adventurous ones, he supposed, and these two certainly fit the bill. But Dean had to be sure.

"Seriously?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed.

Dean reached down to the floor and picked up Kate's purse, finding her phone in an outside pocket. He didn't see a Neal or a Neal Caffrey in her address book, so he dialed someone named Nick Holden, the only N name on the list.

Kate had been watching him smugly, clearly not expecting him to make such a leap. When she saw he'd dialed, she made a grab for the phone and said, "What are you doing?"

"Calling Nick," Dean replied. "For confirmation."

She huffed and rolled her eyes saying, "He won't tell you anything different."

Dean played with the sheets as he waited for Neal to pick up and Kate flopped onto her stomach again, sighing in exaggerated boredom.

"Hey, you," Dean could hear Neal smile into the phone, knowing he thought he was talking to Kate. The sound burred with cell static and the noise of traffic in the background. "How's our boy?"

"He's just fine, thank you," Dean returned. "And how are you, Mr. Holden?"

There was a pause, slight, just a beat, but Dean felt a small victory. He could keep up with these two, for the most part. He could put them on edge. "I gather you got to the part about the sex," Neal said. "You don't believe Kate?"

From the use of real names, Dean figured Neal was somewhere safe, so he decided not to pull any punches. "Well, I do like to be extra sure when we're talking about fucking your girlfriend."

"Yes, Dean, that's what we're talking about."

Dean let out a slow breath, and moved across the bed, making sure to rustle the sheets. Kate had turned herself toward him, and he looked over and licked his lips noisily. He leaned over her and said, "Cuz, you know, I was thinking about doing it all over the place. On this bed, against the wall, in the shower, and loud enough for the neighbors to complain."

Another pause. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Are you cool with that?" Dean pressed his forehead against Kate's, sliding his hand up her thigh, hard enough to let her really feel it through the fabric of her sweat pants. Her breath hitched right into the phone and Neal's followed a second later.

"I already told her," Neal replied shakily. "We decided."

"You decided," Dean countered in a hard voice. "I wasn't there. I want to hear it from you."

Neal didn't reply. He breathed steadily into the phone. Dean didn't know what he was waiting for. If they were both fine with it, why hesitate?

"I've got my hand on her pelvis, Neal. Her pants are gonna be off in a second and her legs are gonna be spread. I'm on the rebound, man. And I am really ready to do this. Are you sure?" Dean hooked his thumb into her waistband, drawing it down and she arched toward him. Her breath was warm and she'd slid her arms around him, her hands were in his hair. He spoke against the side of her mouth. "It would be hard, but I…I could stop now," he breathed.

Kate's eyes locked with his as if she dared him to when Neal spoke, saying simply, "_Don't_."

Dean nearly laughed. The heavy guttural, tone of Neal's voice told him everything. He didn't take his eyes from Kate's when he asked, "You gonna go take a cold shower or are you going to rub one out first?"

"We'll see if I have time," Neal replied, in a strangled voice and hung up.

Dean tossed the phone to the floor and stared at Kate. Her big blue eyes were wide and her lips were parted. "So I guess you're still okay with this?" He asked.

"Goddammit, Dean," she growled and nearly tore his shirt trying to get it over his head. When she did, she tossed it aside and began to work on his jeans. He hadn't bothered with a belt that day, so she made quick work of it while he concentrated on kissing her and moving his hands around to her bra strap.

He was usually pretty good with them, but today his fingers fumbled and he swore into her hair.

Kate pulled away and smiled at him. Reaching behind her back, she did that thing he'd only seen a few girls actually do. Cassie had done it the second time they'd fucked, when they'd been too fired up to bother undressing each other. Kate undid the snap or hook or whatever the hell it was on her bra in something like a split second and pulled the whole goddamn thing out through her sleeve.

"Jesus," he breathed. She winked at him and drew her shirt over her bare breasts and head in one swift motion. He leaned forward, kneeling on the bed, and slipped his fingers under her waistband. He remembered the last time he'd been in a bed with her; she had been the one to take his pants off.

He met her eyes and knew she was thinking the same thing.

Dean smirked and hooked her panties as well, drawing both slowly down all the way to her painted toes. He stood to shuck his jeans and boxers, but found himself frozen, still staring at Kate's pink toes.

Cassie always had hers painted a dark cherry red.

"Dean?" Kate's voice came from far away. Dean looked at her, guilt probably plain on his face. She was naked in his bed, ready and waiting to be fucked. Hell, they even had _permission _and Dean was thinking of another girl.

"Did you love her?" She asked quietly.

"I think I could have," he replied. Not enough time.

Dean suddenly remembered what he'd been doing and he looked guiltily again at Kate. She didn't deserve to be his rebound fuck. She was so much better than that. "If you don't want…" He could barely get the words out, "We don't have to—

"Dean," she leaned forward, her eyes intent. "Just shut up and come over here." She spread her arms wide and Dean's pants were off in a second. He let himself fall into her embrace and buried the bittersweet memories of Cassie in Kate's promise of comfort and relief.

He roamed every inch of her slender frame with his hands, his lips, his teeth and she did the same. Her expert fingers traced those incredible circles across his skin and fitted his cock in just the right place for him to sink into her slowly.

She whimpered and moaned under him and he barely registered whatever noises his own vocal chords ground out. She came first with a gasp and a shout, but he kept going, harder and faster until his panting breaths shuddered to a stop and he choked out his release into her hair and the pillow beneath her.

Kate's arms were still around him and he let himself believe her when she said over and over again that everything would be all right.

* * *

Afternoon sex was one of Dean's favorite things. He didn't get it often; one of the pitfalls of getting most of your action from one night stands. So when he did get it, it always seemed special. As they lounged in his bed, watching the sky darken and creep towards evening, he told Kate as much.

She smiled sleepily, idly running a hand through his hair. "You know, Neal wouldn't sleep with me until I turned 18," she said. "We made love in Paris at midnight on my birthday in a hotel with a view of the Eifel Tower. We almost botched the con were working that night. I was supposed to be his sister."

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he raised himself on his elbows to send her an approving glance. "I find it hard to believe that he kept his hands off _you_ for an entire year."

"I was pissed at the time. But he told me, the only charge he never wanted to be accused of was statutory rape." Kate shrugged and trailed her finger around Dean's earlobe. "We got to know one another. And we did other things."

"What kind of things?" Dean asked.

Kate smiled wistfully, and closed her eyes, "I'd watch him jack off, or we'd both do it at the same time. We tried to see if we could get there together. I'd tell him, 'wait, wait,' and he'd whisper what he was going to do to me after my birthday to make me come faster. He'd count off the days, the hours and minutes. When we were drunk we played a game where we tried to get as close to each other as we could, without actually touching. He was much better at it than me. And he would cheat sometimes too. Like blow into my ear, or pull on my sleeve until I lost my balance."

"So he wouldn't touch you, but he wasn't above buying you alcohol?"

"It wasn't against the law in France," she laughed. "It was silly. And the rest was hard. But now, I'm glad we waited. Neal has enough guilt eating at him; I never wanted to add to it." The tone in her voice suggested she hadn't gotten what she wanted.

Dean opened his mouth to ask, but was cut off by the too-high, electronic sound of his Metallica ring-tone. He considered ignoring it, but Kate glared at him and so he climbed off the bed to see who it was, dragging the sheets off of her in the process. She giggled and displayed herself like a playboy calendar girl.

The caller ID on the screen read, "Pastor Jim."

Dean winced and looked away from her, snapping open the phone. "Hey, Jim. What's up?" He tried to sound casual, despite the naked girl in his bed and the fact that he hadn't seen or spoken to Jim in a few months.

In his peripheral vision, he caught Kate shift in interest, as Jim replied, "Dean. Your dad said you left Athens in a hurry."

"Yeah," Dean hedged, unsure of what else he could say. Kate tugged on his hand and he turned back to her. Her eyes were cartoonishly wide in excitement as she mouthed, "Pastor Jim?"

He knew that Kate knew of Jim from the return address on his letters. He didn't understand why she should be surprised or excited.

"He's a real person?" She whispered intensely.

"What?" Dean muttered at her.

"Can you hear me, Dean?" Jim sounded confused.

Dean brushed her hand away and back up a step, "No. Sorry, yeah, I can hear you."

The voice over the phone was just as strong in that quiet way as Dean remembered from his childhood. "I was just calling to see if you were okay. It's not like you to—

Dean couldn't let him continue. "Yeah, I know. Tell Dad I'm sorry about that." He gave Kate a withering look when she scowled at his words.

"That's not what I mean," Jim insisted. "Are you all right?"

Kate spoke when Dean hesitated. "I can hear what he's saying, Sweetheart. Do you want me to tell him?"

"What?" Dean exclaimed. "Jesus, no."

"Dean, is someone else there?" Jim's voice sounded uncertain.

Dean strode over to the window, casting a dirty look back at Kate, whose only response was to stick her tongue out in his general direction. He answered, "Er, sorry, that was a friend of mine."

"You're with friends," Jim sounded relieved.

"Well, one friend."

"Is this the person who keeps sending you those lovely postcards?" Jim never failed to compliment the tastes of Dean's mysterious globe-trotting pen pal every time the Winchesters came through Blue Earth.

"One of them," Dean answered, looking at Kate.

She beamed back at him, wrapping the sheet around her torso. "Tell him I say hello, and that I'm really glad he's a real person."

Not sure how to paraphrase that last part, Dean just said into the phone, "She says hi."

"Oh, it's a girl!" Jim exclaimed, just like he did back when Dean was fourteen.

"Jesus, Jim, are you ever gonna stop treating me like a horny teenager?"

Jim laughed, "Not until you stop taking the Lord's name in vain."

At that, Kate, who had scooted to the edge of the bed in order to better hear the conversation, burst out laughing. She pulled her knees up to her chin, tangling herself even more in the sheet, and covered her mouth, as if she were trying to hold it in only too late.

"Well, you two have fun," Jim chuckled again then added, "I'm glad you have someone to help you in times like this, Dean. Make sure you hold on to that."

"Yeah, okay Pastor Jim," Dean replied, failing that time to speak to the man as an equal, like he'd been trying to since he'd received his GED.

He snapped the phone shut and glared at Kate. "What was that, you crazy woman? You're glad he's a real person?"

She shrugged, still giggling. "We thought maybe you made the name up, just as a cover for your address. I didn't think there was a _real _Pastor Jim." She smiled and said, "I'm already a big fan. Especially if he calls to check up on you. Not everyone is allowed to do that regularly." She pouted slightly and he walked back over to the bed.

He lifted her up and pulled her into his lap as he sat back down. She leaned into his shoulder and asked, "How long have you known Pastor Jim?"

Dean took a deep breath, deciding to be as honest as possible, at the very beginning. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"I don't know when or where Dad met Jim," he began, "But Sam was just a toddler the first time he took us there. I was maybe six? Jim gave me hot chocolate and put Sam on his lap. He did something, to make Sammy laugh. I don't remember what it was, a funny face or a tickle or something. I must have fallen asleep because the next morning Sam and I were on a cot in the parsonage's den and Dad was gone. I couldn't find him anywhere."

He paused and Kate kissed his cheek, then his lips, softly. It felt like encouragement. "I was so mad," Dean continued. "Dad had never just left before. He would tell us to stay in the car sometimes, or he would ask the neighbor lady to look after us for an afternoon. But that time, he was gone for days. I hated Jim. I hated everything for those days. And when Dad came back, I lost it. I screamed and cried and hit him over and over again. The only thing that stopped me was Sammy wailing in Pastor Jim's arms."

"I remember later," he looked directly at Kate now and her expression was soft and serene. Dean smiled; he'd never even told Sam about this. "Later Jim took me aside. He said, 'Listen, Dean. God has a plan for your daddy. It might not be the greatest plan, and maybe that's blasphemy. Even so, you need to listen to him and learn what he's got to teach you. You keep your powder dry, your pistol cocked, and your brother safe, do you hear me? And you'll all get through it in one piece, okay?' I barely understood half of what he said at the time, but…it sure as hell stayed with me."

"Do you think it's true?" Kate cupped his cheek in her palm, and he leaned into her touch.

"I don't know," Dean replied, knowing it was a lie. "No," he amended, "Not anymore. It's more complicated than that. I can't keep Sammy safe if he's not here. We're not all in one piece. We were broken last fall, before that even. We were broken when Sammy decided to walk away. And I know why he did it, but it doesn't hurt any less that I can't do my job."

"Your job," Kate repeated with a sigh, kissing him again and pulling him close. She spoke into his ear, almost reverently, "You're so similar."

"Who is?"

"You and Neal," she answered.

He sidled across the bed and laid her down next to him, so they faced each other side by side. He let his expression ask what ever questions she would answer.

"Neal thinks it's his job to keep me safe, to give me everything I want."

"And that's bad?"

"Neal and I want different things." She said, evasively. She plucked at the bed sheet, and pulled little pills of thread off the fabric then discarded them back on the bed.

"Doesn't seem that way to me," Dean replied with a smile, he stopped her hand. "I can just see you two, fighting over which painting to steal."

She shook her head, "No, that's not what I mean. Neal doesn't know what he wants. Right now, he's still going strong. We're at the top of our game and neither of us wants to stop. But I know. I know it's in the back of his mind. He'll mention something in passing, about the future. About a house, a real one somewhere, that we own. About children, about names or schools, or even pets! He thinks, someday, if we steal enough, we can disappear. We can have the perfect life. We can start over, together. We can be happy."

"But he's wrong?" When she didn't answer, he dipped his head to look into her downcast eyes. "Are you sure? I can't really see you two with a two car garage and a grill out back." He cocked a little grin at her and said, "But I suppose you could have it Upper East Side style, with a view of the river and a live in maid."

"No, shut up and listen to what I'm telling you, Dean." Her eyes were serious, and her mouth twisted in an almost anguished way. Dean took her hand, it was a reflex, and he did it as naturally as he changed the pace of his breathing. Kate continued "This isn't some bullshit joke about commitment. Neal was raised in this kind of life, living out of cars and hotel rooms, never staying in one place for long. He's as tired of it as you are, maybe even more than you, but he hasn't got the courage to admit it yet. He wants that normal life too."

Dean wasn't so sure about his wanting a normal life, but he wasn't about to argue with Kate about Neal. "But what about you? What do you actually want?"

She smiled sadly, "I'm never slowing down. I don't want to…ever. A house and kids and a fucking dog. That's what _they_ wanted me to have. And I'm never going to give them the satisfaction." She looked Dean directly in the eyes and said, "Neal's going to change. He's going to get older and more tired and he's going to want to stop. He's going to want all of that with me. And that's when I'm going to have to leave him."

Dean tried to interject, but her eyes filled with tears, and as he watched she kept them at bay and her voice was hard when she said, "Maybe he can have it with you, or maybe he'll go back to Alex, or God knows, he could have anyone he wanted, but he can't have it with me and I have to leave him before he kills himself trying to get me a life I never wanted."

He didn't ask her who Alex was, and he didn't bother to confirm that "they" were her parents, all Dean asked was, "Have you thought about talking to him about this?"

He wasn't a talker either, but he'd figured Neal and Kate had this relationship business down pat. Then again, maybe they didn't. He wondered for a moment if anyone did.

Her brows furrowed and she crossed her arms like a stubborn child, "I'll figure it out eventually. It's not like I'm doing this tomorrow. I have time."

"All right," Dean replied, leaving this battle for another day.

She pressed her forehead against his chest and he kissed her hair, smoothing it lightly with both hands. It wasn't long before they roamed elsewhere and Kate was kissing him, throwing off the sheets. The second time they fucked, she was on top and he circled his index finger around her clit until she screamed and clamped hard around him. They came almost at the same time and it felt awesome, but Dean could not have said whether the experience was better or worse than the first. At least that time memories of fucking Cassie were as far from his mind as they could possibly get.

They clung to each other, sweaty and gasping, collapsing into exhaustion and sleep before they could even disentangle their limbs from each other.

The next day they woke up late, cleaned the hotel room together, and packed their respective stuff in their respective cars. Dean was reminded of Kate and Neal's swift retreat from the hotel where they had first met. Their easy economical movements had been quietly in synch with one another. He remembered it was almost mesmerizing.

Kate said little that morning, but smiled at him like a fool, grinning and prancing around as they worked. Dean couldn't take his eyes off her. He didn't want to, knowing how soon they would both be leaving, in different directions.

As she tossed the final bag of trash into the dumpster and he double checked the arsenal in his trunk one last time, their eyes met across the parking lot and he knew she'd been doing the same thing.

They met in between the two vehicles. She wrapped her skinny arms around him and he spun her around until she kissed him. Once, twice, three times, but with no tongue. It was a simple goodbye, but with a promise of times to come.

* * *

"I'll see you soon, Kid," she whispered in his ear.

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Not if I see you first, Sweetheart."

Kate threw her bag on the sofa and slammed the door behind her. It was only when she heard the loud, "Oof," and a low groan that she realized Neal had fallen asleep there, waiting for her to return.

"I thought you'd still be out with Cardoza," she said, referring to the current mark.

Neal rolled off the cushions and came to his feet, recovering quickly as usual. Though he could do nothing to smooth all the wrinkles his little nap had done to the Armani suit. "How is he?" He asked, walking over to her, a look of sleep still lingering in his eyes.

"Better now," she answered softly, and sighed when Neal's arms came around her. They'd had this same conversation on the phone as she drove away from Dean. But Kate remembered something different in Neal's voice then, and they hadn't been able to talk long. She thought maybe it was the job.

"What about Cardoza?" She asked again.

Neal ran his hands up and down her back. His cheek brushed hers as he dipped his face to the crook of her neck. "It'll keep," he murmured and breathed her in.

Kate tried to pull away, "Come on, baby," she whined, "I feel so gross. In a car for seven hours? I must smell terrible."

His hand clamped down on her hip possessively and her pelvis swayed closer to him. "You smell like him," Neal murmured. "Did he taste the same?"

_Oh, Jesus_, Kate thought and closed her eyes, remembering. She felt a flash of heat and her pulse pounded. "Like salt and gunpowder," she answered, pulling Neal in for a deep, searing kiss.

She pulled back and Neal trailed his lips down her throat, whispering, "I remember."

"Can you taste it?" His hands were unzipping her sweatshirt, as hers were at her own drawstring.

"Yes," he moaned. "I wanted to be there."

"I know," she said, then added, struggling to think as he undressed her, "He doesn't believe we're serious. He didn't understand why I came."

"Next time," Neal replied. "Next time I'll be there. I'll make him believe." And he picked her up, kissing her all the while, and crossed the room to lay her on the bed. He pulled her arms over her head, posing her like a work of art. He spread her legs and looked straight into her eyes.

Kate saw his hunger, the hint of jealousy that made all this so dangerous, so thrilling. She quivered in anticipation under his hands, as one rested on her upraised knee and the other cupped her thigh.

He leaned in and spoke in a measured, almost business-like tone. "Now I'm going to lick every inch of you. And while I'm doing that, you're going to tell me everything he did to you."

"What about what I did to him?"

Neal smiled and in that smile was a promise to all three of them. "I'll be sure to ask Dean the next time I see him."


End file.
